


Shadows Rising

by NeuroticNeko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Harry, Basically Harry awakens his scáth genes and finds his mates, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Bottom Severus Snape, Boys Kissing, Comfort/Angst, Creature Inheritance, Dominant Harry, First Time, Harems, Hogwarts Eighth Year, In Character, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magical Inheritance, Male Homosexuality, Mating, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Mistaken Identity, Multi, Multiple Partners, Multiple Relationships, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Oral Sex, POV Third Person, Plot Twists, Plotty, Porn with Feelings, Post-War, Scents & Smells, Some of them have not been decided yet, There are going to be five, Top Harry, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-23 13:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12508588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroticNeko/pseuds/NeuroticNeko
Summary: Harry's body and magic have been slowly and irrevocably changing since the end of the War.One day he collapses, emerging as the newest addition to a powerful, ancient race - a race once brought to the brink of extinction, and highly sought after due to their compatibility with all magical species.Harry's newfound instincts have him constantly on edge - but, they will also lead him to his mates.All five of them.





	1. Harry Potter

Grey clouds rolled over the landscape and the first patters of rain hit the gloomy countenance of Grimmauld Place, who, Harry had joked to his friends many times, was exactly like a miserable old man, sitting hunch-shouldered from cold and lack of human attention.

As Harry woke that morning, he heard the rain dashing itself against the windowpanes and groaned piteously. Why today?

He forced himself out of bed and clambered over the many miscellaneous items that littered his bedroom floor to get to the bathroom, hair askew even more than usual. He blinked wearily at his reflection in the mirror and pulled a face.

 _Ugh, I look dreadful_. He wiggled his ears at his reflection. The shadows under his eyes and the dark, stubbly growth on his jawline agreed with the assessment.

A flash of gold broke his inspection of himself in the mirror. Bewildered, he squinted at his reflection trying to elicit another flash and find its source. Nothing happened.

Shrugging, he squeezed out some toothpaste and brushed his teeth. After wiping his mouth on his towel, he padded over to the small radio that hung precariously over one of his many books on Quidditch. He tweaked one of the antennae and the sound crackled to life. "…and for the following three days we will see humid and heavy to moderate showers with less rainfall during the afternoons and evenings. Tonight, the weather..."

Today would be the first day this hermit would leave his apartment in months.

* * *

In a busy street in downtown London, Hermione Granger muttered, " _Tempus_ " and worried her lip. It was half past noon and Harry still hadn't appeared yet. Edging closer to the café, she tugged at her blouse and peered at the rain.

Ron was kneeling on the cracked pavement, his carrot top hair peeking out of the cap Hermione had forced upon him. An occasional muggle shot a few shocked - then amused glances his way. Ron squinted at each one, probably thinking that if he looked closely their expressions would say 'how awesome!' instead of 'what the-'

"'Mione -" He muttered ,"Why are they looking at me like that? Li-like I'm the Snape boggart in Neville's grandma's clothes?"

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Well, if you had  _listened_ to me when I was talking earlier, Ronald Weasley, you would've realized that, no, Muggles have no inclination towards wearing ridiculous looking capes with conjured pebbles spelled onto it!" she finished all in one breath.

Ron knitted his brows together. "That's unfair! Muggles believe that all magical people wear starry capes!" -or, at least he had read in a book he had read. Muggles for Dummies, he recalled vaguely, and he had found it under a pile of wrappers beneath his bed. Ron then wondered why he had bought a book. As a rule of thumb, any Weasley by the name of Ronald never bought  _a proper_  book. Ron frowned and dredged the memory from his brain. Hm.

 _...It had been a Yule gift…_   _from Fred and George._

_Wow, why am I so gullible?_

Ron's face darkened and he muttered absently; "Oh look, the rains stopped" Hermione sighed and cast a curt look at the door. The bushy haired witch was rewarded with a glimpse of unruly raven hair poking around the corner.

"Harry! Over here!" she yelled excitedly, frantically waving. Ron got up, all thoughts of misleading books written by very unreliable  _magical_  authors gone.

"Harry!"

Harry grinned and shouted, dashing towards the place that his friends were. After pushing past the throngs of people that milled around the busy street, Harry began to realize that something was awfully wrong about one of his friends; Namely, Ronald.

Was he trying to blend into the wall behind him? Because with all those rocks that looked like they would rather be anywhere  _but_ on Ron's cape, the red-head was certainly succeeding in… merging with his surroundings.

At the same moment Ron also realized that there was something definitely off about his friend. "You-" Ron said, and stopped.

"Err- you-" Harry began. How to explain that stars in fact meant pentagrams and not little bits of meteorites that probably were  _not_ little bits of meteorites but random pebbles found in anyone's garden? They both stopped and paused to let the other talk first. When the silence continued, Harry spoke first, "Ron you do realize that no self respecting muggle wears something like  _that_ onto the street-"

Hermione pursed her lips at Ron. "When I told you that no Muggles would wear that, why didn't you take it off?"

Ron blushed furiously all the way to the roots of his hair. It was not a flattering look.

"Well what about you?" Ron snapped, embarrassed. "Did you take some Knockturn Alley growth potions or something?"

Harry frowned. "What?"

"You're almost as tall as me now!"

Hermione, who had been staring at Ron's cape, took her first proper look at Harry and performed a rather spectacular double-take. "Ha-Harry! You could be 6 foot now!"

Harry shrugged, wanting to get to the sweet smell of pastry that emanated from the inside of the café. "Maybe I finally got my growth spurt" he joked.

All three of them sighed in relief when a blast of delicious smells in the air hit them. A smiling waitress in a black uniform and a nametag sashayed up to their table and Ron blushed. It was not lost on the waitress. Harry hid his grin behind a serviette and surmised that this, being Ron's first time to a muggle café, thought that she was coming up to flirt with him. Hermione cleared her throat, loudly, and Ron flinched when she quietly spoke with a cold clipped voice, "I'll have a hot chocolate thanks"

"Ah- a-" Ron scanned the menu desperately, "-Black coffee"

"Hot chocolate with marshmallows please " The waitress took Hermione's and Harry's menu's and had to forcibly tug at Ron's until he got the gist of it and sheepishly handed over the chamomile smelling menu.

"Sorry" He whispered under his breath, flicking his eyes up at the waitress, who was already onto the next table.

A few minutes of reminiscing of the past year later, they all felt a little warmer and began removing their assortment of light jackets and in Ron's case, his inspiring-representation-of-the-Moon's-surface cape. As soon as the gaudy thing left Ron's shoulders Hermione grabbed it and stuffed it hastily in her charmed pouch. She drew the string tight and vowed silently to leave it there and never ever mention to him about its existence.

". . . and Oliver Wood? Remember him!?"

"'course I do!"

"He's replaced Avery Hawksworth as chaser for the National Quidditch Team!" Ron enthused, almost shouting.

"Can he perform the Rowntree Counter?" Harry asked excitedly, hands flat on the table.

"Even better than Hawksworth they say!"

Hermione, who was never very excited about Quidditch (unless it involved Ron or Harry, of course) leaned over towards the animated boys and asked,"What's the Rowntree Counter?"

Ron and Harry mirrored each other in guppy-eyed faces of pure shock. "Why, the Rowntree Counter-" Harry began quickly."It's the most famous and-" continued Ron. "It's the English Teams special-" Harry followed."-team move!" exclaimed Ron.

Hermione, however, was most unnerved by Harry and Ron's sudden affinity for ending each other's sentences. Ron's face suddenly paled dramatically. "Bloody hell, we sound like Fred and George!" Harry chuckled.

"Here's your two hot chocolates and a black coffee" The waitress, who's name tag read Cathy, placed the black coffee in front of Ron and hot chocolates in front of Hermione and Harry, adding marshmallows to Harry's drink.

Ron took a sip of his. His vision exploded in black and green hues. "Merlin's beard. . ." He choked and spat out his mouthful of coffee. "This is disgusting!"

Hermione snorted "You're the one who ordered it"

"How can muggles drink this stuff!?" Ron gasped, fervently wiping his outstretched tongue on a serviette. Harry slapped Ron on the back and grinned at him.

Harry picked up his drink and sipped, enjoying the way the chocolate slid down his throat. He offered Ron a marshmallow. "What is this?" the Weasley asked suspiciously.

"Just a muggle sweet" Ron took a nibble. "Ooh, these are good!"

When Harry had gone through most of his drink and Ron was drinking a glass of water, Hermione set down her drink on the table and cleared her throat. Harry and Ron looked up. The bushy haired witch needed to tell them.

"Have you heard from Professor McGonagall lately?"

"Hmm… no, why?" said Harry, through a mouthful of drink.

"Well, she's asked us-"

"Merlin, she isn't asking us to pay the fine for-" Numerous occasions popped up into the carrot-tops mind. Like that time…and when Harry and he had…oh, and that time when…"Ron, shut up!"

"Sorry" Harry flicked his spoon at Ron."She's asking us if we'd like to go back to Hogwarts for an 'eighth year.' We do still have to complete our N.E.W.T's you know"

"I don't suppose she's going to let us off the hook" Ron sighed.

"So this means you both are going?" Hermione sipped her drink, which had cooled down somewhat.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances.

Hermione nodded, quietly relieved, she had been afraid that after the war that Harry would become a shut-in. It seemed that she needn't worry, Harry had always been resilient.

* * *

Harry absently scratched at an itch on his arm. Recently, a few freckle-like spots had begun appearing on his left upper forearm. He hadn't been out in the sun all.

Ron turned and caught him scratching his arm a little too enthusiastically.

"Mate, you okay there?" he asked, concerned. "I'm fine" Harry said, albeit uncomfortably, he tried not to scratch them again. The spots were really itchy.

Hermione glanced over and frowned. "Harry, what are these?" She inquired, looking curiously at the spots that littered his forearm. Taking her wand from the pouch, she leant under the table and cast a quick illness detector. "These don't seem to be a sickness or rash, Harry, what are they?"

"Freckles?" he chanced. "Harry! Freckles aren't itch-" Hermione's eyes widened, she had caught a glimpse down Harry's shirt when he had tried to move away. "Harry! These are on your chest-" She grabbed the back of Harry's t-shirt roughly. "-and your back too!"

"What? But I swear they were only on my…" Harry had looked down his front. The spots had spread from his left forearm and down his front and back. He pulled the sleeve of his right forearm up. Nothing, yet.  _What are these_?

"You haven't been sunbathing on the beach have you?" Ron asked. Harry really didn't want his friends to worry about him any more than they already had, so he spoke quickly. "Uh-yeah; I went to the beach a lot last week! I must be itchy from the sun burn" Hermione and Ron weren't convinced (they both knew it had rained quite a bit the previous week, Harry seemed to have forgotten in his hasty reply), but they both let Harry have his deserved privacy. For now.

Hermione cast another suspicious glance at Harry, who, was nervously fidgeting in his seat. She was going to search all her books for this mysterious thing that Harry had seemed to catch as soon as she arrived home.

"Waitress!" She gestured at the table and all three stood up, ready to leave. When they got outside, it had begun sprinkling again and they all put up their umbrellas.

"Stupid things" Ron growled when he tried to push his umbrella up, but failed miserably. Harry grinned at his friend and offered to help.

"Thanks mate" Ron said when Harry opened his for him.

"I don't get why Muggles insist on these strange contraptions." A spell would be  _so_  much easier. As if reading his mind, Harry spoke, "Muggles don't have magic remember?"

Ron nodded and then brightened up. "Hey, Harry. Do you think me and Hermy could visit you at Grimmauld place- OW! What was that for!?"

"Never, ever call me Hermy!" Harry grimaced. That looked painful. You would've never thought that those two were going out by the way they were acting."Yeah, you guys can come. Next Sunday?"

* * *

The rain had gotten heavier and Harry had been forced to hail a taxi home. Sitting there, with the windshield setting a steady rhythm, Harry pondered over the past two weeks.

The days following the defeat of Voldemort had been strange, almost frozen in time. Minutes, seconds, days had trickled past like thick syrup and Harry had been the small ant stuck in the substance, slowly drowning. It seemed so surreal. Thoughts plagued his mind, day and night.

Was Voldemort really gone? Had Harry really been the one who had killed him?  _Killed Voldemort?_

And there had been moments - dark, terrible moments. When the snake-faced bastard had plagued his mind, his every waking thought, his every  _sleeping_ thought- and he had been terrified. Terrified of sleeping, terrified of his nightmares, his dreams, more terrified than ever before. Because when he succumbed to the darkness behind his lids, Tom Riddle would coagulate from the writhing shadows, reanimated, revived by his faithful Death Eaters, and this time, Harry would be the one who's chest exploded in violent green…and he would fall to the cold, hard ground. Lifeless. Pale. Dead.

Somehow, and for some reason, weak sunlight had slipped through the tightly drawn curtains and despite the pain it would bring, Harry had poked his head out from under his sheets and stared at his room like a startled lamb, taking in his surroundings, breathing in the smell of unwashed body, of him. As if the tendrils of mist curled tightly around him had loosened, Harry had taken stumbling steps towards the bathroom and had sat at the bottom of the shower stall and stared numbly at the swirling water for what, must, have been hours.

He might have stayed there, if not for Kreacher. Evidently having  _not_ forgotten about his Master, the house elf had appeared silently inside the shower stall and started rubbing his Master's skin unforgivingly with soap and a scrub. Kreacher's Master had been like a pillbug, hiding for safety. Kreacher had allowed him that. But when the pillbug shows any sign of unrolling, it's up to the house elf to grab the ends and stretch, and Kreacher would not let any of the House of Black to be likened to an  _insect._

The time spent in the stall had been a turning point for Harry. It was a moment of perfect clarity- he was sitting buck naked on the tiles, the water turned on too hot and spitting onto him, his skin was being vigorously chafed, the shower wall was stuck uncomfortably to his back and his butt ached from sitting in the same position for too long. …What... was he doing here?  _Why_ was he sitting here? Harry stared sightlessly at the misting glass walls, his hands were spread flat on the tiles- as if he were grasping for something that wasn't there.

Eventually, Harry's eyes drew away from the walls and focused somewhat on the bedraggled creature in front of him. The house elf busy scrubbing his legs was soaked. Water buffeted the bat-like ears and drenched Kreacher's numerous folds of skin. The bloodshot eyes blinked constantly as the water dripped from the wrinkled forehead - but the proud house-elf did not stop his enthusiastic rubbing - even as his Master ripped the soles of his feet away from the terrible itch.

When Kreacher had bundled Harry into a bathrobe that weighed a ton and looked like someone had ripped the hide off of an alpaca, and he was huddled in it, sitting lifelessly on the couch, he wondered. As dust motes drifted in the sunlight around him, he wondered. As people outside his windows chattered loudly and carried on with their lives, Harry wondered- and felt something besides numbness. Anger.

What was he  _bloody_ doing?! He should be out there, celebrating harder than anyone else! Didn't he deserve the right? Hadn't he suffered enough? Hadn't he woken enough times in the middle of the night, screaming, crying, bleeding on the inside?

A simmering of anger swirled around in Harry's stomach. He pulled at his hair in frustration. He had killed Voldemort himself! He had!

Voldemort was  _never_ going to come back!

He stayed there, for a while, resting his head on his knees. Later, he'd hitched up his robe and shuffled down the stairs, one at a time. On arrival to the kitchen, he'd sunk to his knees and hugged Kreacher tightly around the waist, sobbing.

Kreacher rolled his eyes at the antics of his master and grumbled, "I didn't hack at their legs with kitchen implements for nothing"

"Mpmfh?" Harry mumbled through Kreacher's sack-like tunic.

"I was just wondering if Master Harry would like to put me  _down_  now"

* * *

Ron and Hermione stood in a comfortable silence after Harry had left. "Did you-?" Hermione began. "Yeah, he's changed," she sighed, "It's not just on the inside, is it? Even though he's matured… I think he's changed the most on the outside."

"I swear that growth spurt is unnatural!" Ron added.  _Noooooo! I can't even be taller than him anymore!_ He cried silently on the inside.

"His voice has gotten deeper."

"His hair looks even messier than before"  _So perfectly windblown!_ Ron grumbled in his mind.

Hermione gave Ron a strange look. "What?" Ron demanded. "Never known you to be so observant," Hermione huffed. Ron blushed, "H-hey!"

Hermione smiled and pecked Ron on the lips, leaving him speechless on the sidewalk, rain pelting down on him when his grasp on the umbrella loosened.

Ron was in a decidedly pink coloured haze but when a particularly big raindrop hit him square in the eye, he snapped out of it and realized his was still standing in the middle of muggle London. A place he'd never been before. "Wait! Wait up! I don't know how to get back home!" He yelled after Hermione's back, which was quickly being swallowed by the masses.

* * *

When Harry slipped unnoticed into the mysterious Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Kreacher was cooking.

"What are you making?"

"Kidney Pie" Kreacher replied, rather irritably too, he had wanted to surprise his master (and eat some himself, he couldn't do that now that Master was back).

"Why don't we eat it now?" Kreacher's ears perked up. His master had said we. Kreacher was a con man by heart and knew he'd be able to cheat his way into a slice of pie. If his Master asked why, he'd just say that Master said he could. He had said we, after all. Kreacher loved it when people left loopholes in their conversations. He cackled. When they got to the table however, Harry sat down on one mahogany chair, pulled out another and gave permission for Kreacher to sit.

Kreacher sighed. His master was, in two words, too nice. Kreacher had been looking forward to a good battle of the wits. Shrugging noncommittally he reached for a slice. Oh well. Pie was pie.

While eating, Kreacher noticed, like he had in the last few weeks and cast an appraising eye over his Master. Since Kreacher had seen him this morning, Harry's magic had grown. To the house-elf it was palpable, the magic swirled and condensed in odd clumps, detaching itself from Harry and then whirling back in to mix with the magic inside him. Kreacher could see it, building up in Harry's core and it was preparing for release.

Soon though, the potent magic would be apparent to anyone who set eyes upon the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. It had already showed itself in Harry's eyes, making the verdant green impossibly greener, Harry had shot up and Kreacher knew that it would not stop - not until that day - and Harry's voice had already started to deepen. Kreacher knew that he'd have to start pain relieving potions, in secret of course. You couldn't tell a wizard. They'd just hyperventilate and hurt themselves in the process. He bit down on his piece of kidney pie, satisfied with his judgment of wizardkind.

Harry put down his fork, feeling a little unnerved by the glances that Kreacher were shooting at him. Things were happening, he didn't know why or how. The Saviour's instincts, honed by living every year of his life on edge, told him that great changes were occurring. He too had noticed that he was getting taller and his voice was starting to deepen. …He'd put it down to him finally being able to relax, eat good food and not have to worry about someone killing him in his sleep - but it was worrying.

"Thank you, Kreacher that was great"

Kreacher dipped his head and whisked the plates off the table top, balancing all the plates on his spindly arms and trotting towards the kitchen sink.

Harry let out a satisfied belch and headed for the bathroom.

* * *

Harry flicked his finger over the calendar and reassured himself that Ron and Hermione's visit was in fact  _tomorrow,_ and he hadn't made a terrible blun-

Wow. It was his birthday.

Not knowing what to do, he padded down two flights of stairs (he slept in Sirius's old room, on the third floor) and was greeted with the sight of Kreacher snapping his fingers with gusto. The house-elf spoke, "Master Harry? Breakfast is-" Harry, however, had already plunked himself down onto a chair and taken a huge bite out of his toast, "-on the table."After eating his fill, he looked up to see Kreacher still working madly. "What are you doing?"

He was ignored. Shrugging, Harry left the room, telling himself he'd come back later and see what Kreacher was making… a cake maybe?

Harry stroke into his bathroom and picked up his brush and toothpaste. Looking up at the mirror he started brushing his teeth. Halfway through, he noticed that the rather large sleeping shirt he had on revealed his right shoulder. He frowned.

Last night, he had woken abruptly, his right arm felt like little ants with their feet dipped in itching powder had been crawling all over them. Too tired to keep himself awake, he had ignored the discomfort and fallen back asleep. Now Harry knew what it was.

The strange spots had multiplied and crept up Harry's right forearm. What the hell was  _happening_  to him?

When he had wiped his mouth on his towel, he left the bathroom and laid down on the bed. He was turning eighteen today and he couldn't give less of a damn. Harry turned on his side and pulled a book from one of the precarious piles that were relatively close to his bed and began to read.

After wasting a couple of hours, Harry got up and stretched his muscles. He grimaced, feeling longer and taller than he was used to. The Boy-Whose-Hair-Hated-Him walked over to the wall and measured himself. He had grown a whole centimeter overnight. He wondered about what was happening to him. It couldn't be natural. Like Ron had said. Sighing, he pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind and decided to investigate what Kreacher had been making.

Peering around the house, he figured that Kreacher was probably out buying groceries and crept into the kitchen. He searched through the fridge, the pantry, the trash can, the oven; Nothing. Suddenly and with a flash of inspiration, he looked inside Kreacher's sleeping place.

Packages upon packages of vials were scattered among Kreacher's blanket. Harry frowned and picked one up, swirling its contents. He recognized it as a pain relieving potion. Were these for Kreacher?

"Kreacher does not understand what Master Harry Potter is doing ransacking Kreacher's sleeping place" Kreacher had silently appeared behind him, without the distinctive crack! that came with an apparating wizard or witch. Damnit!  _Oh well, too late now._

He held up a vial. "Kreacher, who are these for?" Harry asked, trying to shift the subject. Kreacher looked at Harry oddly. "For Mr. Harry Potter."

"Why would I need them?" Harry questioned, he wasn't planning to be in pain anytime soon. Kreacher kept staring at Harry and he felt uncomfortable. "As your Master, I demand that you tell me why I-"

Harry's vision clouded with red and knives stabbed at his chest, ripping a pained groan from his throat. All his muscles contracted in pain. He writhed in agony. Dimly, trough a rushing sea, Harry heard the words, "For now" and his sight; smell and hearing disappeared behind the loud sizzling that was erupting from every pore of his body. He could still feel everything, though he wished he couldn't. Through the burning fire that ravaged his every cell and twisted his guts he felt himself lifted up and put onto the couch.

He cried out. He wanted relief; the pain was too much, too great. He was going to go insane. Suddenly, a cool liquid was poured down his throat and the raging fire quieted. Though only a little, Harry was grateful. His last conscious thought was  _Thank god for Kreacher_.

Then the darkness overcame him.


	2. The Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has collapsed for unknown reasons, distressing his friends greatly. Hermione discovers what may be happening to him.

"It's been five minutes and still, no one's answered the door yet!" Hermione said, glaring at the flaking door of Grimmauld Place. Impatient yet worried, she pounded the door with her bare fist.

"HARRY! ANSWER THE DOOR! HARRY!"

She glared at Ron. "Ron! Help me!"

Ron gamely started bashing the door and bellowing, "HARRY! MATE, OPEN THE DOOR!"

They continued in the same fashion until the door opened with a ' _creak!'_  and the bedraggled figure of a house elf was revealed to them.

"Kreacher? Where's Harry?!"

Kreacher lead them to the living room, where he immediately took a vial from the boiler and hastened to the couch.

"Merlin's beard!" gasped Ron

"Oh- Harry!" cried Hermione.

Surrounded by blankets and towels, Harry was lying on the couch, hair damp and matted, clothes wet and stuck to his body. He cried out fitfully and Kreacher was immediately by his side, dabbing a wet cloth on his forehead and pouring a potion down his throat.

"What happened to him!?" Hermione demanded, "-and what's more, why haven't you tell us about Harry's condition!?"

Kreacher looked balefully at Hermione and resumed his soft dabbing.

"Master's friends mustn't tell anyone about Master's condition!"

"And why not?"

"Kreacher's Master is in a delicate state, too much magic around him will destroy the balance!"

Ron, who had been staring at Harry for a while now had begun to notice something strange going in the air surrounding Harry.

"'Mione?"

"What!? Can't you see I'm in the middle of-"

Hermione's eyes widened as she looked towards where Ron's shaking finger had been pointing to.

"Oh my..." She rubbed her eyes.

It wasn't immediately noticeable - the room was too dim for that. The air around the couch rippled and pulsed, expanding and contracting around the prone form in its grasp. An invisible wind rifled through the Harry's sweat-matted hair and lifted the edges of his blanket.

Magic; it surrounded Harry and rose from him in waves and swirling vortexes.

"We should at least move him into a bed" Hermione whispered, lifting her wand arm up. Kreacher glared at her, stopping her movement.

"It would not be wise to perform any sort of magic around Master. His magic is highly volatile and will react badly."

In agreement, Ron grabbed Harry by his underarms and Hermione grabbed his feet. Both almost dropped him when a spark leapt from Harry's skin and skittered over their skin.

"Be still!" Kreacher cried out.

"What was that?" Ron said, eyes wide.

"Master's magic was determining whether you wanted to harm Master. That is the only reason Kreacher let two troublemakers in." Kreacher said matter-of-factly.

When they arrived outside Harry's room, the door was open.

It was like a hurricane had decided to pay a visit, to put it simply. To put it in another way, it was the definition of a bachelor's pad. Hermione took a deep breath and decided it would be wise to not take another one for a while yet.

Ron whistled, "This is nearly as bad as Bill's place before he got hitched to Fleur," with his toe, he gently nudged some of the books on the floor.

"Well, it's still better than your's," Hermione said, business-like.

They levered Harry onto his bed.

"Kreacher, you know what's happening to him, don't you?" Hermione gazed at the elf intently.

"Kreacher may. But it is better not to tell the mud-blood and the blood traitor."

Ron spluttered. Hermione ignored it and started rummaging through her pouch again, occasionally she'd toss a book onto the ground and then she'd start rummaging again.

"What are you looking for?"

"Books on how to treat patients without magic"

Ron looked skeptical. "Muggles don't even have magic, how can they heal patients?"

Hermione flipped through a book about surgery and pointed to a particularly graphic image. Ron went pale as chalk, "That's barbaric," he said weakly, fighting the urge to faint dead away at the sight of blood.

"It works."

Hermione stopped and looked at a heap of books she had thrown on the floor.

Sorting through them all, she withdrew one and flipped it's pages.

_No, no, no, no, no…no…AHA!_

Hermione looked over at Harry and frowned. She began to walk over to his bed but then she blushed.

"Um… Ron? Can you remove Harry's shirt?"

Ron tugged his friends sweat-soaked t-shirt and pulled it over his shoulders. When he did, the first thing he saw was that the spots that he had seen the last time they saw him had multiplied and spread, crawling up Harry's shoulder. Whereas they previously could have been mistaken for freckles, they now seemed alive, animated. As they stared, the trembled and inched further up his shoulder.

"AH!"

Harry had moved and with an iron-like grip that sick people shouldn't be capable of, he had grabbed Ron by the hair.

"Um…mate, if you can hear me. Please let go. I'm gonna lose more hairs then I have already lost worrying about you."

All the unconscious Harry did in response was pull Ron closer to him and dig his nails into him. Then, the iron grip around him relaxed and fell away. Ron looked down at his wrist and at the crescent-moon indents in the shape of Harry's fingers. Any harder and Harry would have pierced his skin, as it was, they would definitely bruise.

"'Mione, look at his chest," Ron resumed, "The spots have… had babies."

Hermione frowned, "What are they?"

Kreacher looked up at her, "The beginning" and proceeded to ignore them.

After Harry had been re-dressed in clean, dry clothes, Hermione lifted the book from where she had left it face-down. The Muggle-born witch checked the blankets that covered Harry; sufficient. She tucked Harry's arms in and changed his pillow.

With a sigh she plopped herself down on the floor and rested her head on Ron's knees. "Poor Harry, it's never gonna end for him, is it?"

"M'fraid not, Harry just calls trouble to him"

"What Harry really, really needs is to just… have a normal life."

"We'll help him through it. After all that he has done for us."

After some biscuits and tea, Hermione and Ron left. Just as they were about to leave the front door, Kreacher dashed off. He came back with a very, very dirty book.

"What's that?" Ron asked in a distasteful tone

Kreacher gently patted the cover and blew lightly, the dust swelled off in a cloud. Without a word, he handed it to Hermione.

The door slammed closed.

"Git" He grumbled under his breath.

Hermione elbowed him.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Heard that," came a croak from the other side of the door.

* * *

After dinner, Hermione had climbed into bed and taken the old dusty tome from her pouch. It had no title, just a blank leather (very, very faded brown) cover. She tried to open the book gently but every movement caused a loud crack in the spine. Opening the first page it read:

_In this book details the many inheritances that society denies._

_To my granddaughter, for her 17_ _th_ _Birthday._

_Lovingly, granddad._

Hermione bit her lip.  _Inheritances that society denies?_ She flipped to another page and found the index.

_Introduction_

_The Inheritances common to Purebloods_

_The Inheritances rare to Purebloods_

_The Inheritances common to Half-bloods_

_The Inheritances rare to Half-bloods_

_The Inheritances of Squibs_

Hermione understood Kreacher's intentions immediately. Then, she did what all good witches and wizards do when they read a book. She read the introduction.

_In the many, many millennia that the Wizarding World has existed in, we owe our existence most to the creatures that hide in the shadows and lend us the power to shape the world._

_In millennia past, wizards and witches would've been married off to many creatures,_ _Naga,_ _Sprites,_ _Faeries,_ _Elves,_ _Vampires,_ _Weres,_ _Banshees and countless others that cannot be named in such short an introduction._

 _It has come to many of our attentions that in the modern day we hide anything that we consider '_ anomalies'  _or so the Ministry lead us to believe._

_What they must remember is that everything in this world needs a balance, a balance that they have denied for too long._

_Remember, a creature is their own being, they have feelings, beliefs and their own values._

_No matter what your inheritance, it is part of you._

_No creature deserves to be treated with less respect._

Very, very interesting; Hermione could understand how society would think about the 'anomalies'. She was, after all, one herself. Turning back to the index she looked down at ' _The Inheritances common to Half-bloods'._

Turning to the right page, she began to read.

After an hour, the brainy witch began to feel frustrated; none of the descriptions or 'symptoms' of the creature inheritances were matching with what Harry was going through. It was like he was going through a second puberty. Previous to this collapse, he had been growing taller, his voice was deepening, his magical signature was changing, he was even growing stronger musculature. She had even noticed the slightly brightening eyes and the dots. The dots, what were they? Why were they spreading?

What Hermione really wanted to know was how long her friend was going to remain comatose. Most of the creatures she had gone through were instant and painful, like a firework. A wizard would go to bed on their 16th or 17th birthday and feel and explosion of pain, wake up the next morning and have wings or other such things sprouting out of their backs but not Harry.

His was like a lava flow, approaching silently from behind and then burning him, consuming him slowly. There was another thing, Harry was eighteen now.

He was nearing the end of puberty; his growth should have been stabilizing. After all, most inheritances occurred when a wizard or witch came into their magical majority at seventeen.

Hermione cursed violently and fell back onto her pillow.

There must be something,  _something_.

She shot up like a jack rabbit. Harry was  _special_ , he was  _always special._  Anything to do with Harry couldn't be  _common_. Forget  _common_! Excitedly, she flipped to  _The Inheritances_ rare _to Half-Bloods._ These were generally the inheritances that required certain specific and rare circumstances to be achieved. Whether this was a certain percentage of creature blood, or an affinity with nature nearly impossible to achieve unless you were a full-blooded woodland elf, or finding an ancient relic.

In less than half an hour Hermione chanced upon her answer.

 _The_ Maister Scáth,  _better known as the_  Scáth, _was one of the first to answer Merlin's call._

_They originated in Ireland and in their language they were aptly named 'Masters of the Shadows'._

_When wizard kind first appeared, they who kept the Loch Ness monsters at bay, joined the wizards, in hopes of strengthening their numbers and because they thought it their duty._

_In actuality, their dying out was because they bred with wizard-kind too much and their bloodlines weakened._

_However, they are not extinct._

_Due to many bloodlines having been influenced by the_  Scáth,  _an individual who has come to terms with their inner-self and has been influenced and exposed to vast amounts of magic will be more likely to awaken their_ Scáth  _genes._

_This, however, does not mean that everyone will inherit. Inheritance also depends on how thick your blood is, this is why half-bloods rarely inherit this gene and it is unheard of in a squib._

_Your inheritance will also depend on how close you are to certain families._

_The most_ Scáth  _a single family has produced at a time is three._

 _In Magical Britain, the most likely to awaken are those related to the Blacks, Princes and the Peverells, the founders of their families were_ Scáth.

 _A half-blood will also have a much harder time coming into majority and will come into it at the very end of puberty. Their growth starts months before the typical 'Inheritance Fever,' this is caused by the low concentration of_ Scáth  _blood, which must now gather itself and slowly change the body._

 _A half-bloods Fever will fall between one to two weeks. During this period, their marrow will be producing_ Scáth blood,  _the introduction of this new blood causes the fever, as the white blood cells reject the foreign material._

 _After the change,_ Scáth  _are typified by the_ _runes that cover their bodies; of course these runes are very_ _different for each person and effect their lives in a very personal way._

_You cannot choose your runes; they will be decided by the deeds you have performed in this life, and in very, very, special cases, their past lives._

_The beginning of runes are often disjointed lines or can almost be mistaken as a severe rash or even severe freckles. These disjointed lines, during the Fever, shift on the individuals skin until they can achieve their most harmonious shape.  
_

The book revealed no more.

* * *

Hermione came back the next morning (without Ron, he would've gotten in the way and as much as Hermione loved Ron, she couldn't deny that sometimes he was a pain in the neck) and confronted Kreacher in the kitchen.

"What do I need to know? What can I do?"

Kreacher looked smug and asked her with a superior smile.

"That is why Kreacher cannot tell, but, if you insist Kreacher shall tell this mud-blood."

Kreacher led Hermione to the couch.

"When did Hermyownee begin to notice the changes?"

She scowled, although this was Kreacher's first attempt at civility, being called a mud blood was almost better than this bastardization of her name. It almost sounded mocking. She doubted that was Kreacher's intention though, so she let it go.

After fidgeting for a moment, she sat still and thought about his question.

_Was it the way he walked? His personality? What had changed? And when had she begun to notice these minute changes that she only thought about now?_

"I think…it would be…a few weeks after the war"

Kreacher nodded slowly and said:

"Shortly after the war, the major magic's that were at play during the battle at Hogwarts and the large amounts of magic he had been in contact with during his attendance of Hogwarts caused his Scáth to awaken.

The fact is a half-blood  _very rarely_  inherits this gene as most half- bloods aren't exposed to as many strong magic's as pure-bloods are. Typically, pure bloods are purposely awoken by their families through the use of very powerful artifacts. As Kreacher and Miss both know though, Master is not ordinary.

Master has performed many great feats in his short existence and his genes, and most importantly, his  _magic,_  recognizes this. The magic of the Scáth's seek to pass on their bloodline to only the strongest of wizardkind, not to mention that Master is descended directly from one of the Peverell brothers."

Hermione was silent.

"But… there were so many students in Hogwarts during that time. Wouldn't that mean that many people might have activated their Scáth genes?"

Kreacher took one ear in hand and started scratching it.

"Kreacher thinks that there may be a few, but Kreacher also knows that there are other creature inheritances out there that may be activated because of the flare-up of powerful and dangerous magic's that came about during Voldemort's return."

The witch bit her lip.

 _Going back to Hogwarts for an eighth year… everyone would've changed in their own way,_ she realized.

Leaving Kreacher to clean and scrub the sink in the kitchen, Hermione put her hand on the oaken handrail and began to ascend the steps.

Striding over to Harry's bedside, she pushed his matted hair away from his face. The recumbent patient groaned and Hermione turned her back to take a towel and some cold water from the bedside table. Unwary, she was caught by a firm grip.

Remembering the darkening bruises on Ron's wrist, she tried to wrench back her arm. Pin-pricks of bright, sharp pain sizzled her nerves.

Was Harry marking them?

The grip on her arm relaxed and she turned around. Harry was peacefully lying comatose on the fluffy white and blue checked blankets.

"What was that for?" She mumbled to the unconscious Harry. "-it  _bloody hurt_ , damnit."

* * *

Hermione came the next day and asked for the address of a good library or bookstore. The bushy haired witch looked intently at the unmoving figure.

His pallor was beginning to return and his scruffy black hair was darkening.

* * *

On the fifth day since Harry had begun his fever, Hermione came with Ron and visited Harry. Ron commented that Harry looked like he could wake up any day now. Harry had grown two more centimetres.

While cleaning Harry, Hermione took Harry's shirt off. She looked curiously at Harry's chest and arms. The spots were beginning to look like disjointed lines.

* * *

It was the sixth day and it was raining again. The duo went upstairs and changed Harry's sheets and clothes.

"Gee, he looks even better than he did when he was before this happened."

Hermione looked at Harry.

"He does, doesn't he?"

She sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at her friend. The-Boy-Who-Lived was looking remarkably well, better than sick person should look. His hair was wild and had become darker and shinier looking, his limbs were elongating, his lips were no longer a pale white and Harry's skin colour had slightly darkened to a golden tint

Ron watched in silence as Hermione went on with her customary check up.

"Another 2 and a half centimetres," she murmured.

She looked at Ron.

"That's at least six and a half centimetres in five days; this fast paced growth could be dangerous!"

"How?" Ron asked, confused.

"You  _still_  haven't read  _Hogwarts: A History_? A boy in his sixth year tried to take a growth acceleration potion but his bones were not fully stabilized and his body couldn't handle the sudden growth. He collapsed and when he was found, the damage was already done. His bones were permanently bent out of shape"

"He was fixed, though?"

"Oh yeah, but had a pronounced hunch-back that stayed with him"

Ron paled.

* * *

At four pm, they left through the flaky front door and bid Kreacher a farewell.

Kreacher stared after them.

"Must get ready."

The magic that had exploded that first day had been entrenched in Harry's body. Day after day it had grown brighter and brighter.

Today, though, the magic had been more subdued.

* * *

**And suddenly there is nothing. No fire. No feeling just an empty darkness- a never ending abyss.**

**The darkness wraps itself around him, as if never wanting to let go of its prize.**

**His eyes open.**


	3. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boy-Who-Lived wakes up to face startling changes.

Harry had a headache.

He had a  _very, very bad_  headache.

The-Boy-Who-Lived felt like a million centaurs and trodden over him and his mouth tasted like a cat had pissed in it and his tongue felt like a shriveled fig. When he tried to open his eyes, he felt like they had been sealed shut with hard cement and had to struggle through what felt like someone was trying to wax his eyelashes off before he cracked them open.

Everything looked normal, or, at least the ceiling did. Harry stretched out his arms and winced when the muscles twinged in pain.

Something wasn't right. The sense of wrongness worsened when Harry tried to sit up. Forcing his panic down, he took a long look around the room.

For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what was wrong. Harry swallowed, mildly despairing of ever recovering from the paranoia that had almost become instinct to him following the end of the war. Just as he was finishing his careful inspection of his bedroom, his eyes landed upon his glasses - which were perched upon his bedside table - and performed a spectacular double take. He passed a hand over his face - no spectacles.

_What?_

Out of sheer habit, Harry reached over and put them on. The room blurred and his brain immediately complained in the form of a headache.

_What the fuck is happening?_

Harry jolted out of bed like a newborn colt and stumbled around his room, trying to get a bearing on himself. He looked down and saw his feet.

They were too far away.

His feet were too fucking far away.

Harry was going crazy. It had finally happened. He had finally gone around the bloody bend.

He started to groan in distress - but the gruff sound shocked him into silence.

There was something terribly wrong.

Harry stumbled into the bathroom and saw a stranger staring back him with their mouth wide open.

Their eyes, his eyes; they were greener, brighter than they were before and - he leaned forward. Gold, the glint of gold he had been noticing lately. A ring of gold surrounded his cornea.

A hint of black peeking out of the collar of his shirt abruptly caught his attention. He pulled it off and gasped. The dots were no longer dots. Instead, intricate runic symbols ran from one arm to another. He turned around. The symbols continued on his back, linking shoulder to shoulder and forming a chain around his torso.

Harry watched as (what could only be his own reflection paled.

Who was he?  _What_  was he turning into?

* * *

Kreacher felt the sudden drop in magic concentration in the upstairs bedroom.

With a sigh of relief, Kreacher Apparated to where Harry had fallen down; he had sorely missed the ability to use magic around the house during Harry's inheritance. The house elf levitated Harry onto his bed and patiently waited for his Master's 'friends' to arrive.

* * *

_Several months later - one week before the new Hogwarts term._

"Why is it so bloody hot today," grumbled Ron, who was sitting on a stool inside  _Madam Malkin's._

It was decidedly hot and sunny today. Ron didn't fancy the idea of staying inside a stuffy clothing shop and being baked to death. Wizards weren't big on air conditioning and couldn't be bothered to cast cooling charms on their shops.

Harry was smiling awkwardly at Madam Malkin, who tittered excitedly over his new physique as she measured him.

 _Damn it_ , Ron thought in  _slight_  jealousy.

Harry pulled at his robes, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. Madam Malkin's magically directed measuring tapes were hugging him in an obscenely tight manner and the pig-tailed girl in the other fitting-stool kept licking her lips salaciously. The girl smiled - and revealed row upon row of pointed teeth.

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up and almost uprooted themselves.

Harry's Scáth recoiled in disgust as a strand of mottled orange magic wafted past.

_No, a definite no._

Hermione coughed and cast a warning look at the girl.

"Harry, we still need dress robes for you. I'm thinking of getting some for Ronald too. His robe is just-  _ugh_ \- unacceptable and they also don't fit him anymore."

Harry grinned and sat down as Madam Malkin went to find some appropriate fabrics. A draft from the bottom of the door swirled around Harry, bringing in a eclectic mix of smells and scents from Diagon Alley.

An electric current ran up his spine. Harry stiffened, body vibrating and on high alert. His heart starting pounding so hard he thought it would break his ribs. The sound of his blood rushing along his veins nearly drowned out all else. Harry breathed deeply, trying to find the smell that had wrecked him so thoroughly.

The fragrance blew away with the next draft and Harry was left sitting there; eyes dilated, teeth bared and heart still beating wildly. He turned to the street beyond the store windows - magical folk swirled about the street, indistinguishable from each other in the midday crowds.

If he had been listening, he would have heard the soft, despairing whine that escaped his throat without his notice.

At that moment, Madam Malkin returned with two robes.

"For you- and you," she handed them to Harry and Ron. Harry ripped his eyes from the window and focused on the fabric in her hands.

After an hour of trying on dress robes, both guys decided on their purchase and headed for Flourish and Blotts. Pushing the door open with a  _tinkle_ , they were hit with the unique and unmistakable scent of newly printed books. Immediately reinvigorated, Hermione pulled out a list and they went searching for seventh year textbooks and materials.

After paying for their books, Harry was dismayed to find that he only had a galleon left on his person.

"Guys!"

"I need to go to Gringotts. I only have a Galleon on me."

"I'll go find you two at Ollivander's in an hour, then," Hermione said in lieu of farewell.

Ron's wand had broken during the battle at Hogwarts, for months now he had been using an old wand that he had found in The Burrow's attic. As for Harry, his repaired phoenix feather and holly wand had simply become silent to him. After botching a  _lumos_  badly, he'd realized it would probably never work for him again as his magical signature had changed too much. It was a deeply depressing discovery. This wand had followed him since he was eleven and first discovered magic, after all.

By the time he arrived outside the lopsided walls of Gringotts, Harry was nervous and sweaty-palmed. It seemed as if every person on the street was staring him. Snippets of conversation floated into his ear.

"It's him!…Potter. Look at the scar"

"…hot…who?"

"..this?... handsome and… You-Know-Who"

"Ooh! Look… scar! Can't…"

"...can't be natural..."

The probing strands of magic that unconsciously reached towards him were started to alarm Harry. At high speed, Harry walked into Gringott's marbled space and past the aisles of busy goblin clerks. When he reached the front counter, he politely coughed.

An old goblin with an owl-feather quill sat there. His hair was shoulder length and could only be described as tendrils of mist, which, hung from the sides of his head.

It was the same goblin that Harry head met all those years ago.

The goblin glanced at Harry for a moment and returned to his calculations. Uneasy silence drifted on. With a put-upon sigh, the wizened goblin rubbed his eyes tiredly and put down a pair of half-moon glasses.

"I suppose I cannot call on Griphook anymore. What… is it that you  _want_ , Harry Potter?" the Head Goblin's voiced drawled, lingering on his name.

Harry started.

Remembering his manners in time, he replied.

"May your vaults ever flow with gold - Honorable sir, I am here to ask a withdrawal of 100 galleons from my vault."

The goblin looked down at his pile of papers and shifted through them.

"You have your key, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir" Harry confirmed.

Shuffling some more, the goblin looked down on his nose at Harry and looked back at his papers. Gesturing to his new apprentice, he gave a short and to the point order.

A few moments later, his apprentice, a rather sharp nosed goblin, strode back with four aged parchments.

"Thank you, Igneous. You may return to your duties."

Without a word, he descended from his very tall chair and his assistant assumed his post.

"Harry Potter... come with me"

Harry obediently followed, despite being goblins taller than the Head Goblin. They hurried through many musty tunnels before they arrived at Harry's vault.

"Sir, I thank you for accompanying me to visit my vault, but I wonder if it is necessary for a simple withdrawal of a hundred Galleons," Harry said, as politely as possible.

The goblin held up the parchments. "I have more to discuss with you"

The hook-nosed goblin came to a stop outside of Harry's vault.

"What's in those parchments?"

The goblin ignored him, as goblins tend to do, and started talking at his own leisurely pace.

"During last year's -  _madness_ \- I was unable to inform you of the - changes. Indeed, last year when you came for Hufflepuff's Cup and Gryffindor's sword, I was unable to contact you due to…  _circumstances_. Unfortunately, my assistant did not have the papers that were required, so I was forced to wait until the next time you visited Gringotts.

However, I was not expecting it to take  _a year_ , Mr Potter, what have you been doing all these months? There are matters that cannot be left so late!"

Harry was intrigued; the Head Goblin had personally taken charge of Harry's situation. What that situation was, he was not exactly sure, but he listened on.

"Now, we've got quite a few things to discuss, so withdraw your galleons." Harry did so.

"Please, follow me." The goblin started walking briskly towards a seemingly innocent hole in the wall.

A few minutes later, they arrived into a large hall where many old goblins were sitting in high chairs, sipping their tea, while their younger assistances or apprentices scurried beneath them, hurrying to catch a falling paper or dashing for another pot of ink.

Harry looked around in awe. The place was huge and the deep-earth smell of the room was almost as intriguing as the age old halls of Hogwarts. As the Head Goblin walked into the room, however, the scuffling settled and the goblins on the higher seats gestured towards their underlings to behave and keep still. Almost as one, their eyes turned to the pair.

Harry broke into a cold sweat, if there was anything that Harry was still afraid of, it would be the stares, the stares of the people who regarded him as a freak and hero alike.

They soon arrived in what seemed to be the Head Goblin's private office. It was starkly furnished, with a few stands for precious looking items. Probably all goblin crafted.

The old goblin sat down and seemed to collect himself. Shoving a few papers into a pile, he spoke.

"I don't believe I've introduced myself yet. How ungracious of me. Greetings, Harry Potter, I am the Head Goblin of Gringotts, Tungstern Goldhand. Mr. Potter, here are your papers"

Harry looked down at the parchments, unable to glean meaning from them.

"They are proof of your inheritance."

Harry's head snapped forwards, "Inheritance, you mean-" He gestured helplessly at himself.

The goblin nodded slowly.

"Yes, but not only that. You have also inherited the Potter vaults and as your godfather's will proclaims, the vaults of the Noble House of Black."

Harry nodded, he had assumed as much. He gazed blankly at the papers - it was just more money to him. The Noble House of Black - Harry felt sick, this money wouldn't have been his to have if Sirius hadn't -

He probably would never use it anyway.

Tungstern's eyes were lasers as the probed Harry's face. Seeing the blankness there, he put his sheaf of papers down.

"I'm afraid you don't understand, Mr. Potter. You are not only inheriting the vaults. Bloodlines do not just give their vaults to whomever; them giving their vaults to you mean that you are now their Lord of House.

And for two Noble Houses, no less - this means double the responsibility. You will have to take care of not only the debts of the Potter's but the Black's as well, the people of both lines and the property of both, which may include businesses and property, etcetera."

Harry felt overwhelmed just hearing about it. Just seven years ago, all he had to his name was an assorted jumble of Dudley's hand me downs and several banged up toy soldiers.

"So I now have to take care of the affairs of both lines?"

"That's right; no Lord must shirk or take his role lightly"

The Head Goblin fixed his eyes onto the still form of the Lord of both Potter and Black.

"I understand that this is a lot to take in, however, this is not the end."

Harry just sighed tiredly and rubbed the hair from his eyes. The Scáth within him made him want to growl in frustration.

"Go on" He gestured, drawing himself up.

"Being the Lord of a bloodline that you are not directly descended from requires some… procedures. I will not try to gold-coat this, Mr. Potter, what you are required to do is take a potion of a slightly dark persuasion."

Harry sat up. "Why? What does it do?"

"Being the heir of a bloodline requires you to have children, of course. The fundamental job of a lord is to continue and strengthen the existence of that bloodline. This potion will strengthen your Black blood, enabling you to pass on the genes of that Noble House.

It is an ancient procedure and will change you, your blood and maybe even your magic so that your blood will carry the Black gene. It is Ministry approved but not for distribution, it was made strictly for situations where the heir is not blood related and only us goblins have full knowledge of its brewing process.

I will not push you to undertake this process, but realize that if you choose to reject us, we will have no choice but to pass the title of Lord of Black to Heir Malfoy."

"When must I come back?"

"Two weeks after Hogwarts starts. It will be ready by then."

Harry nodded and took the proferred parchments. Looking through them, he was amazed to find that both families owned so many properties.

"Wait…what's this?"

The goblin, who had gotten of his chair, looked at the paper in Harry's hands.

"Oh, that is the vault for any person in the Noble House of Black who inherited the Scáth gene. I'm sure you will find many things in there."

Harry looked, wide-eyed at the parchment.

_Finally! Some answers!_

"Thank you, Tungstern."

He bowed formally and left the room.

* * *

When Harry finally arrived at Ollivander's his friends were very, very cross. They stood just outside the wand shop, hair sticking to their flushed faces. 

"Harry! How could you make us wait this long!?"

"So…hot", Ron whined.

"What kept you so long?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing much," Harry murmured, feeling it would be odd to reveal that he was suddenly the Lord of the Noble Houses Potter and Black. Together, they opened the door and went in. The smell of old, mysterious things suffused their noses. Harry was glad to see that, despite a whole war and his torture at the hand of Lord Smell-the-fart, Ollivander was still here, puttering about the store his ancestors had established centuries ago. A bit emaciated and yellow-ish looking still, but these things take time.

Ollivander's floating voice was heard before he was seen. "Oh, Hullo Harry. It's nice to see you again"

Harry grinned, "Hello".

The old wandmaker's silvery eyes peered at him.

"Holly, Phoenix tail feather, 12 inches, very supple," he clapped his hands together, "Your wand was  _most_  eager for me to coax it out of its birth-wood once it's brother emerged."

The wand-maker turned to Ron.

"Ah! Vine wood, Dragon heart-string, 10 ¾ inches and this young fellow here, Ronald Weasley, If I'm not wrong?"

Ron looked down at his randomly-found-wand and sighed.

"That's me. My wand was broken during the war, and I need a better replacement than this crappy wand."

The old man tsked him, gently prying the wand from Ron's fingers and patting it.

"Wands are very sensitive you know - there, there, yes, you were very generous to let young Ronald borrow your powers for so long."

Before long, Ron was sighing in contentment. The old wand that he had found in the attic never did what Ron wanted it to do, worst of all, it seemed to consume more magic that it could perform.

Harry was happy for his friend. The shopkeeper was about to walk back to the counter when Harry touched him on the arm.

"Um… sorry, I need a new wand too"

The wandmaker's eyes sharpened as he looked properly at Harry for the first time.

"I see..."

Wandmaker's were, and had to be, people with exceptional perception for magic and extremely attentive to detail. With one look the Ollivander knew that Harry undergone an irreversible change. Humming to himself he brought over four boxes. Placing them down in a row, he gestured to Harry.

"Place your palm over each box and choose one."

Harry wanted to ask why. They hadn't down this before.

"What is it supposed to mean?" he asked Ollivander after giving him a full description of what each had felt like.

The old man gestured at the boxes.

"They are the only wands in this place that will suit your needs, the second one seems the most likely but is not reacting the way it should. Are you, perhaps, going to experience another change soon?"

Harry thought about the blood magic potion.

"Yes?"

Hermione looked at Harry sharply.

"Then that one will probably be yours after it. Wands have a knack for predicting things"

Harry nodded. It made sense.

"Now… 50 galleons for that wand Mr. Potter'

Harry's eyes grew as round as saucers.

"Hawthorn, Scáth hair and scales, 13 inches. Let me tell you, Scáth is very hard to come by."

Seeing Harry's face, he added hastily.

"The Scáth gave it to me of his own accord."

"What's in the other wands?"

"Scáth as well, they probably didn't suit you because of the potent magic's of the individual Scáth"

Eyes still wide with disbelief he slowly sunk his hand into his purse.

" _Accio_  fifty Galleons" he grumbled, discontent.

* * *

Please rate and review, they are the lifeblood of every fanfic author. Stay tuned!

\- NeuroticNeko


	4. The Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now older and wiser, the Eighth Year students re-unite on the Hogwarts Express.

_Day before start of term_

* * *

 

Harry cast a final glance at his room and wondered if he would have enough time to eat. His stomach growled in reproach. 

"Kreacher?"

"Yes, Master Harry?"

"Some toast, please."

Kreacher beamed and disappeared.

A crackle from the fireplace caught Harry's attention. He strode into the green and silver-themed living room and crouched by the fireplace.

"Heya, Ron."

"Harry! I fire-called earlier and you weren't here!"

"Sorry, still sleeping."

"Well, whatever. The train's leaving in ten minutes, you'd better come over soon," Ron warned. "Dad made a Portkey under the rose bush in the garden of Number 9, it stops working in a few."

Harry frowned.

"Can't we Apparate to Kings Cross?"

"Ministry's banned any Apparating within the station and around it in a one mile radius," Ron's image rolled his charcoal eyes. "The Ministry doesn't want to risk any desperate, dying-breath attacks by yet-to-be-captured Death Eaters, I guess. The Portkey will take us to the Burrow, and we will Floo to an abandoned building near Kings Cross."

"See you later then, mate." The image of Ron's face, faded away and Harry straightened. He devoured his toast in a few bites, shrunk his trunk and dashed out of Grimmauld Place.

"Bye, Kreacher!" He shouted, and closed the door behind him.

A blast of fresh, cold morning air seared his lungs and Harry grinned widely, elated to be returning to Hogwarts. He peered down the street for any sign of Muggles before casually strolling to Number 9. The picket wasn't that much of a challenge thanks to Harry's new-found height and he swung a leg over easily. As soon as he dropped into the garden, he realised there would be a big problem.

Harry raised his brows and affected a wry smile.

There was more than one rose bush. The whole  _garden_  was made of rose bushes.

He looked to the left -

_Rosebushes._

He looked to the right -

_Rosebushes._

Stumped, Harry sat on a small clearing of fluffy grass in the middle of the garden. Sighing, he peered under the dense foliage _._ Dark earth, a few worms and a rotted apple core. He saw bottle caps and even an old sock. Time was running out and Harry had no idea which was the port-key.

 _Someone up there really hates me._ Harry thought remorsefully and lay down onto the grass. A pleasant breeze carried the aroma of the roses and Harry relaxed his mind.

A moment later, he felt the frond-like tendrils of magic that existed in the area and reached for them. Concentrating all his newly sharper senses, he tasted the air until he found something stronger, newly placed.

A strand of orange-smelling magic tickled his face. Harry grabbed it by its figurative ruff and followed it to a rose bush on the  _far right_ of the garden, which had  _yellow flowers_ and had a small, rusted metal key beneath it.

He vowed to give Ron a piece of his mind later.

Unbeknownst to him, a blob-like piece of shadow detached itself from a rosebush's silhouette and sped after him.

* * *

Harry fell into a couch with an ungainly  _thump!_ He rubbed his head as he bumped it on the brick wall.

"Someone help him!" A voice yelled from a few rooms away.

Strong arms wrapped around Harry's midriff and helped him stand on his feet. When he looked up, he was disconcerted to find someone's eyes inches away from his. Harry went cross-eyed trying to see who it was.

"Harry!?"

The eyes backed off and Harry found himself looking at the grinning face of one Bill Weasley.

Harry grinned.

"Hey, Bill."

"Blimey, Harry!" Bill crowed, eyes moving up and down Harry's body.

"What have you been eating!?"

The stockily-built Weasley flicked his fingers at Harry's hair.

"What insanity is this?!" Bill grinned so wide, it looked like his cheeks might split, "You're  _tall_  now!"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Wow, I really didn't notice."

Bill's grin just grew wider.

"Hey Fleur!"

Harry groaned. Stepping gingerly off the couch, he cast a  _Scourgify_ on himself and what he had just landed on just before a white-blonde stuck her neck around the corner.

"Who iz zat?"

Bill flung his arms around Harry's shoulders and was briefly surprised at how broad they were.

"It's our Harry!"

Fleur dropped the small table cloth she had been holding and hurried to Bill's side.

"Non, ziz cannot be true!" and yet, even as she spoke she knew it was.

The boy had changed greatly and though he stood fidgeting in front of her, he couldn't hide the power,  _the magic_ he radiated. Her veela could sense it, this wasn't just some freak growth spurt - however - Fleur had no pressing need to know. Harry would tell them once he was comfortable enough to.

"Well, Harry. Nice to zee you again, you have grown even more dashing and handsome zan before," Fleur offered, smiling as she hooked an arm around her husband's waist.

Harry ducked his head shyly.

"If they didn't want to jump you before, I'm sure every one at Hogwarts will now," Bill chortled. Fleur stifled a giggle at Harry's expression discomfort.

Harry blushed.  _Save me,_ he thought in despair.

At that moment a carrot-top haired boy poked his head into the lounge room.

Harry looked pleadingly at him. Ron took in the scene and laughed.

"Harry we gotta go, train leaves in five minutes."

"Um. It was nice seeing you two again. I uh, I've gotta go and catch the Hogwarts Express," Harry nodded at the highly amused Bill and Fleur, blushed again, and then hurried out of the room. He joined Ron in the hallway and followed him to the fireplace.

* * *

They landed in an abandoned muggle shop. There were boxes scattered about with thick layers of dust on them. A few cobwebs hung on the corners of the walls - the air in the room was curiously warm and stuffy.

Harry just managed to stay on his feet this time, wobbling dangerously for a few moments. Ron stabilized him, before grinning, "Seems like our Golden Boy isn't the best at everything he does, eh? What a shocker."

Harry rolled his eyes and punched his friend lightly on the shoulder.

Ron waded through the mess and Harry followed, cautiously, as to not cover themselves with decades of dust. Just before they opened the door, they both cast notice-me-not charms on themselves and then pushed the rickety door open. The Muggles passed by them, oblivious.

"Four minutes till the Express leaves. Were going to be pushing it a bit. Couldn't you have gotten to the Burrow sooner, Harry?"

Harry glowered at him darkly, "You gave me bad directions." His new stature made it almost intimidating.  _Almost._

"They were the ones that Dad gave me."

"You told me that the Portkey was under  _a rose bush,_ Ron. The whole  _garden_ was filled with  _rose bushes_ "

Ron grimaced, "Well, you know my Dad."

Harry grunted and the two off them fended off the crowds in their battle towards the station.

"Two minutes."

Harry leapt into the seemingly solid brick wall and fell through to the other side. Stopping, he straightened his clothes and smiled at the other wizards and witches that were walking towards the train.

Something collided into him from behind and Harry fell face forward onto the hard concrete ground.

"Ow," Ron complained, rubbing his knees.

"Not as 'ow' as me - get off me you wanker," said a muffled voice.

"Is that you I'm sitting on, Harry?"

"Yes. Please, kindly remove yourself from my person."

Laughing, Ron stood and pulled Harry after him. They dusted themselves off and picked up their luggage.

"Harry!"

A bright voice reached his ears and Harry had to crane his head to see the speaker. It was Hermione.

"Hey."

Hermione dragged Harry and Ron over to the nearest train door. An instant later, the whistle blew and the Golden Trio had to jump and dive. They tumbled onto the deck, a jumbled mess of books and bags. Behind them, the doors closed with a crisp  _snap!_ Harry was glad to be sprawled on the floor instead of decapitated.

The trio clambered up, picked up their mess and straightened their robes.

Harry looked left and right, "Are all the cabins full?"

Ron shrugged, "We'll have to check."

The Savior but his lip - if he didn't have to, he'd rather not parade around. He did not wish to be ogled and stared at by everyone on the train, like he had been in Diagon Alley. Hermione looked at Harry and seeing hesitation there, she sighed.

"We'll just go under the invisibility cloak then."

Relieved, Harry took his trunk from out of his pocket, reversed the charm and then laid it on the floor.

"Harry - that isn't - you haven't stuck both sides of the trunk together  _with a charm_ have you?"

Hermione asked, eyes wide with incredulity.

Harry looked up from where he was prying both sides of the trunk apart.

"Er . . . No?"

Hermione just rolled her eyes. Harry rummaged through his things.

"Found it!" exclaimed Harry, as he held up a rather tattered-looking invisibility cloak.

Hermione ducked under it as Harry held it up. Ron joined them and all three struggled to not bump into each other excessively. It was getting too hard for all of them to fit under it anymore. As it was, Ron and Harry were so hunched over they were beginning to get a pain in their back.

Shoulders bumping and knees knocking, the trio struggled to move from cabin to cabin.

* * *

"So how was your summer with your grandmother, Neville?"

"Horrible," Neville shuddered. "She tried to make me knit stockings!"

Seamus and Dean winced.

"Yeah, why make them if you can't wear them," joked Dean.

"Unless you really wanted to," Seamus put in, "French wizards like to wear stockings under their robes"

Dean guffawed, "Really?"

"'suppose they think it looks good," Seamus said.

"Maybe they're just poufs!"

Neville frowned.

"What's a pouf?" Images of a fluffy dessert came to mind.

Dean shrugged, "You know, men that snog other men." He paused. Continued.

 "Sorry, I guess it's not a nice thing to say... its a little bit derogatory - gay people are fine," he ended, flushing.

Neville's face cleared up, "Oh, that's a funny name for gay wizards. It's a pretty common thing here, I mean, every magical family has  _someone_  who was born to two male parents. That's probably why, you know, um, why we don't have any kind of bad name, I guess, for them."

Seamus and Dean leaned closer to their friend, curiosity and shock widening their eyes.

"Really?"

"Yeah, my grandma showed me the family tree a few years back. Around, seven generations ago, I think, the Longbottom heir conceived a child with another man. I think my great-great-grandfather, also."

"Actually!?" Dean demanded, convinced Neville was pulling his leg.

Seamus looked equally astonished and horrified. He imagined something growing inside of him and felt queasy.

"But... but how would the baby, you know... come out?" Seamus inquired, pale-faced.

Dean flopped back on the seat, looked pointedly at Seamus and made a deliberate slicing motion with his hand. Seamus looked distinctly green around the gills.

"A spell of some sort?" Neville had no idea.

The doors slid open, revealing a familiar sneer.

"Malfoy," Dean frowned, thoughts of pregnant men flying out of his mind immediately. "What do you want?"

The platinum blonde was backed by two of his friends, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. They stood between the doors and looked at the three inside, arms crossed.

Neville looked at them, curiously devoid of feeling. When he was confronted with Malfoy's gang, he just felt pity, it was like Malfoy was holding onto something he no longer had. His eyes met pale grey ones, and they held for an awkward moment. Draco's shifted away. Neville supposed it would be even weirder if Malfoy suddenly declared they should reconcile and become bosom friends.

"This is our cabin," Malfoy said, flicking his pale blonde hair. Parkinson and Zabini looked at them impatiently.

Dean rose in indignation but at that moment Neville grabbed him and Seamus and dragged them out of the cabin.

Malfoy's laughter drifted behind them.

"What was that for, Nev? We could've -" Dean started.

"What!?" Neville asked, "Fight them before we had even stepped on school grounds? We don't need that and frankly, neither does Malfoy, he's going through a lot. His father's trial... its going to be before a full Wizengamot, you know... in two or three weeks time. A lifetime sentence hasn't been ruled out yet, at least, according to the  _Daily Prophet."_

"Besides, we really  _had_ been sitting in their cabin. Parkinson's trunk - it was shrunk - but I think I may have been sitting on it."

Dean struggled for words and Seamus put his hand on his shoulder.

"It doesn't excuse him for being a prick, but, well, I think it was the right thing to do. Leaving, that is."

Dean seemed to bristle for a few minutes but then he slumped a little in defeat.

"Yeah, sorry guys. It's stupid to get so riled up over a few words. Hard to let go of years of school-boy antagonism."

Seamus and Neville just nodded solemnly.

"I guess, after a war like that, things have to change." Dean rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

They walked down a few carriages before they came before a empty cabin. This time they made sure no items belonging to other people could be found. Neville settled down on a seat and removed a chocolate frog from his robes.

"Want some?" He asked, waving it under his friends' noses.

"No thanks, I had a whole packet of Bertie Bott's before leaving the house. The vomit-flavored one has had my stomach in knots all morning," said Seamus, before sitting. Dean took one and settled down near the window.

Neville frowned, feeling a bit too warm. Contemplating for a moment, he realized the seat of his pants felt bizarrely warm. Perhaps someone who had been sitting on the seat for a long time had left moments ago? Hoping that they would not be asked to vacate this cabin when the stranger came back, Neville turned to his friends and saw Dean and Seamus staring at him, mouths open like goldfish.

Seamus' jaw worked. Eventually, he spat out, "Blimey, Nev, you're sitting mid-air!"

Neville looked between his thighs,and was chilled to find that he was hovering over the seat by a couple of inches! Baffled, he prodded the space beneath him. The empty air felt solid, but soft at the same time. Almost like -

Abruptly, a severed hand grabbed his fingers tightly.

Neville released blood-curdling shriek, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Just as he was about to faint dead away, warm arms settled around his waist and pressed him back against a broad chest.

"Hey, it's okay," a low voice said, close to his ear.

Neville's heart beat rabbit-like in his chest. Warm breath puffed against the shell of his ear. Neville felt his whole body break into goosebumps.

"W-who?"

"Uh, well, I think I should have spoken up earlier... but... well, there didn't seem to the right opportunity...um, it's Harry, by the way."

Neville was gently lifted onto his feet. Fabric rustled. As he turned, Neville saw Ron and Hermione sitting on either side of a handsome stranger, stifling giggles. Neville's mouth dropped open.

"Harry?" he questioned himself, tempted to rub his eyes. The boy he had been sitting on smiled warmly at him, eyes crinkling. Neville's heart pounded harder. Almost against his will, he gave him a quick look-over. Merlin. This was Harry Potter? Neville hard to avert his eyes, every second staring at that sensuous mouth, the broad shoulders and those shapely long legs were a second closer to committing sacrilege.

Neville was not the only person in the cabin shocked into silence. Dean's mouth had dropped wide open and Seamus kept checking Harry over, shaking his head in confusion, and then checking him over once more.

A large, warm hand grasped Neville's wrist carefully. His eyes rose to meet golden-green ones.

"Are you alright, Nev? I'm sorry for shocking you like that. It was my idea to wear the invisibility cloak,  because I didn't want to be bothered by the whole student body... I've kind of...   _changed_ , you see, and I didn't want everyone to freak out, or worse, start selling bullshit about me to the papers."

 _"_ S-sorry, " Neville stuttered.

Ron patted his shoulder comfortingly, "There, there. Don't worry, we weren't going to make you sit on Harry's lap the whole train ride to Hogwarts."

Harry laughed. Neville, still blushing, moved to sit next to Seamus and fidgeted with his hands. If he was stamping down on feelings of disappointment, no one had to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you've enjoyed the update! More coming your way Sunday, next week, same time :)


	5. The Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry returns to Hogwarts

The rain poured down in torrents, hitting the Thestral-driven carriages like a stick on a drum. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead and lightning streaked the skies. The carriages, which seemed to drive themselves magically to some, sloshed through the perpetual river of water that covered the dirt-trodden path.

The carriages advanced upon the hulking sight of Hogwarts castle, which sat upon the hill like an overseer, watching, as its slaves drew on, one by one in the stormy night.

Inside one particular Thestral driven carriage, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat on one side, with Seamus, Dean and Neville on the other.

They chattered non-stop about what had happened during summer holidays.The atmosphere inside was light, opposite to the raging storm overhead.

" _Bloody hell,_ " Dean said, when he finally deigned to glance at the world outside the carriage, "What kind of shitty weather is this?"

All inside peered into the sleeting rain.

Harry shivered in his seat; it was almost exactly the same as the ride during his third year, with the absence of Dementors, of course.

The carriages drew to a stop outside an imposing barbed fence, Professor Flitwick stood inside, ticking off the passenger's names.

* * *

The Great Hall was bathed in a yellow and blue glow, tinging students' faces violent purple.

The choir gathered up and picked up their music sheets, looking at them for a few moments before putting it back down again and picking up their toads. The students lined up in rows of four, from tallest to shortest. Professor Flitwick picked up his conducting stick.

"1,2,3!" He mouthed and then the choir opened their mouths.

After the rendition, everyone clapped enthusiastically and the students walked off the stage, beaming at the applause.

The first years, awed and nervous, shuffled into the great hall. Their mouths dropped open at the majestic sight of the Great Hall, the stormy illusion still rumbling overhead, the candles flickering above the heads of all the students of Hogwarts, most of whom stared at the first years with nostalgia.

The tiny, stumbling first-years were ushered towards the Sorting Hat and bid them to put it on, one by one.

Six Hufflepuffs, seven Ravenclaws, seven Slytherins and six Gryffindors were chosen. Their house tables cheered enthusiastically and grinned at them when they took their seats at the front of the House table.

"Ahem," someone said primly. They looked to the front.

"Greetings!" McGonagall smiled and lifted her arm high in the air behind the golden owl podium, "-and welcome to another year at Hogwarts!"

The hall burst into applause and she nodded, candle light catching on the silver streaks in her severe bun.

"Now I have a few words to you before you become... totally engrossed," she said, eyeing the boys at the Gryffindor table, "with the magnificent feast that is to come."

She turned gracefully and indicated towards a chestnut-haired man sitting to the left of Hagrid, who was promptly thumped in the chest by the half-giant. The man stood up and bowed.

"May I present to you, Professor Bainbridge!"

The new professor straightened up, smiled winningly at the hall and turned to the podium.

"Thank you, Headmistress McGonagall."

His soft, lilting voice, seemingly without effort, resounded across the hall. Gracefully, he resumed his seat and turned to Hagrid to begin a rather animated conversation.

McGonagall waited for the chatter to die down. "Professor Bainbridge will be teaching Potions this year... as Professor Snape will resume his role in teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts once he is sufficiently recovered."

Gasps filled the Great Hall.

Harry froze.

_Alive._

_Snape was alive._

He ran a hand down his face. Shuddered. Snape's death was one of the things that had weighed on him the most. The scent of congealing blood, the acrid sharp scent of snake venom. The gurgling, rasping breaths of a dying man. Whenever he sat too still, whenever the world was too quiet, whenever he was left alone for too long, it would all come back to him. In a rush. Hidden, he had just  _watched_ ,  _helpless_ , as Professor's  _life_  dripped away from him,  _bloody drop by bloody drop -_

Harry felt sick with shame and disgust at himself. He placed a palm on the table, felt its grain, and calmed himself down. Hermione pressed her hand to his shoulder in sympathy. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"I'm so glad he's alive, Harry."

Ron gave a small nod in agreement, "Me too, even if he was a greasy git."

Harry chuckled, trying not to choke up.

"Yeah, me too."

All the students in the Hall scanned the long table at the front, unable to resist the gravitational pull, seeking the dark-haired man, even though they knew Snape would not be there.

"Let the feast begin!" McGonagall announced. Harry wondered if it was deliberate, her neglecting to mention anything about the War. He knew parts of the castle were still in the midst of reconstruction. He turned to the dishes in front of him.

The first feast of the year, was, of course, grand and the plates were piled with fruit, vegetables and meats.

The hall was still in uproar, however the talk of Snape drifted away as the food appeared on the tables, the student were boasting and laughing about what had happened during summer break. Projectiles flew in the air, the younger students tossing their food in the air before catching in their mouths while their friends cheered them along.

Ron, as he did every year, grabbed a whole bunch of chicken legs and stuffed himself. Harry took a look at Ron's plate and as usual, he was appalled at how much his friend ate. Although... as he stared, the food became more and more appealing, until he could scarcely gulp down the saliva that had pooled up in his mouth.

His stomach growled.

Once he began eating, he couldn't stop. It didn't take him more than half a plate to make Hermione wrinkle her nose at him in distaste. He grinned at her between bites.

Seamus banged his spoon against his goblet to get the table's attention and yelled, "Hey, guys! Look at this!"

The people around him swiveled around in interest as he pulled out a wand.

" _Vinum aquistis!"_

The water inside his goblet swirled dangerously before turning honey gold in colour.

"Rum!" Seamus yelled, holding up his goblet triumphantly. His friends cheered. Seamus grinned, confident that he had finally discovered a spell that could circumvent Hogwart's magic.

Savouring the moment of suspense, he dramatically lowered the goblet to his lips and tipped his head back. Everyone watched as his adam's apple bobbed - once, twice, thrice...

The goblet was slammed down onto the table. Seamus laughed, flushed with his success.

He opened his mouth to speak, "akjs hakw hadksjdka askdjhak ahowiud asj?"

Seamus clapped his hands over his mouth. Then the Irish boy moved his hand away and tried to speak again, but all that came out was gibberish. Dean frowned, what was his friend trying to say? When Seamus gestured helplessly at the goblet, Dean picked it up and looked at its contents.

 _That's strange..._ there was a tiny impurity in the liquid, holding it closer to eyes level, the fleck swirled and twisted until it resembled McGonagall's stern face.

"No alcohol in school grounds, boys," the tiny apparition reproached.

Seamus shrieked and knocked the goblet over, spilling its contents over his plate. Dean looked away from the little figure and gazed with horror at the Headmistress.

McGonagall raised a brow and tilted her goblet towards Gryffindor table.

The two boys blanched. When Seamus tried to as Dean to pass him a clean plate, all that came out was, "auigtfalhyui."

"That went well," Dean said, and replaced his friend's plate.

Their housemates had looked on during the whole fiasco and now burst into raucous laughter.

"Should've known!" Choked out Ron over his mouthful of chicken, "-No way McGonagall would let there be alcohol in the school feast!"

Harry laughed so hard that there were tears in his eyes and his stomach hurt.

The laughter died down as dessert came into view, all thoughts of tiny figures inside goblets fading into a hunger for the scrumptious, delectable, succulent and mouth-watering cream-filled desserts that went their way.

All dug in and Harry was spooning the vanilla cream into his mouth with delight. Blissfully he licked the spoon after the dessert was all inside his stomach.

"Ugh," Hermione complained, "You're becoming just as gluttonous as Ron!"

Harry and Ron grinned at each other and high-fived, then went back to their meal, Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled when they weren't looking.

Romilda Vane, who had been sitting a few seats away and eating some strawberry cake, had heard Hermione's accusation and had turned around, in hopes of seeing her hero, the Boy-Who-Lived. Her eyes quickly pinpointed the space left to Hermione and Ron. She did not like what she saw.

"Who's that boy? And where's Harry!?" She asked shrilly.

Harry, who had been sitting there, eating some apple crumble that Neville had handed him, sighed in resignation. He spooned more cream into his mouth, but it was already starting to sour. Wouldn't she go away?

Hermione and Ron looked at Harry in concern, they didn't want to make a scene in the Great Hall, in front of all the Professors and students.

Harry chanced an upward look and regretted it immediately. Romilda was staring intensely at him - as if she couldn't decide whether to act scandalized or leap across the space and jump him.

"Merlin's beard _,_ it  _is_  you, Harry!  _What happened to you!?"_ She pushed her chair back, which toppled over loudly.

A sudden hush fell over the hall. They stared at her, and traced her pointing finger to peer at the tall, dark stranger in their midst.

"Mind your own business!" Ron stood up angrily.

Harry shook his head gently, placed a hand on Ron's shoulder and pressed his friend back into his seat. The tables around them hushed, all turning in their seats to face the furious proclamation.

"Let me handle this," Harry murmured. Whether he liked it or not, the moment he knew would eventually come had come.  _Come on, Harry, ol' Snake Face did this all the time... it sounds like exactly what they want me to say, but for once, I really do need to channel him._

They were all watching him. This was the moment where Harry had to make understand that he was beyond them. That they hadn't the right to judge him or use him for their sordid amusement. For this type of thing, there was one chance, and once chance only - and he had prepared for this moment for long enough. With slowness and great deliberation, Harry wiped the corners of this mouth and rose to his full height. His jaw firmed.

He turned to the spectators - and suddenly, it was the Lord of House Potter and the Noble and Ancient House of Black standing before them, peering down at them from behind unearthly golden-green eyes. Time expanded, slowed. To all, he cut a striking figure - and not only because of his stature. An aura of quiet strength and nobility exuded from him. It was not the type of nobility these young witches and wizards were used to - the type characterized by expensive taste and scorn for those lower in the social hierarchy - but rather, a nobleness of character. A serenity and assuredness one gained from having always acted according to his morals - for what he believed was right.

In this moment, he reminded them that he was not just Harry Potter, Hogwarts student, but Harry Potter - who had nearly sacrificed all to secure a new era of peace for Wizard-kind. He demanded their respect.

His unearthly golden-green gaze was a polished blade, and it pressed upon those nearest him, daring them to speak up or stay silent. When they stilled, pinned to their seats, he continued in a wide circle, displaying himself, rendering people silent with his eyes and serious expression.

At the end of his deliberate turn, Harry turned his palms upwards. A gesture of supplication.  _Moldyshorts would be proud of me, I think._

"Well?" He tilted his head.

They waited on bated breath. His image - a tall, dark, commanding - was burning onto their retinas. 

"Have you seen enough to  _satisfy_  yourselves?" His voice came out low and measured, touching on sibilant.

No one spoke.

"Good. Then we are  _done_."

His tone was final.

* * *

"That was amazing, Harry," Hermione said, full of pride and admiration, when murmuring filled the Hall's previous silence.

Harry suddenly laughed, shoulders shaking. His friends looked at him with considerable concern.

"I was just thinking... no matter how much of a  _theatrical_   _bastard_  he was, Voldemort still got some things right."

Hermione's brow wrinkled and then smoothed with understanding.

"Well, I suppose if your disregard... all else... Voldemort was able to persuade and bind many powerful people to his cause, especially in his early days, with nothing other than his charm and oratory skill - some would find it... admirable."

Harry chuckled darkly, "Yeah,  _if_  you disregard all else."

* * *

Draco had been watching the whole debacle, his trademark sneer firmly in place like a well-worn mask. Slytherin table had been shocked to utter silence when the Boy-Who-Lived had stood up and silenced them all with nothing but his gaze and a few well-placed, dismissive words.

His housemates all had similar expressions of discomfort, disbelief and incredulity.

"Then we are  _done_."

The sound of the Boy-Who-Lived's voice sent sparks through his brain - a smooth, low sound that lingered in your ears and made you tingle in all the wrong places. Draco tried to maintain only a detached interest in the proceedings, but as waves of authority and power emanated from the dark-haired boy, Draco couldn't help worrying at his lips. By the end, they were red and very nearly bleeding. A terrible nervous tick he had never grown out of.

When Potter's masculine scent drifted towards him, Draco felt his Veela react. His  _dominant Veela._ It reared within him, confused, pushing out but also pulling in the strands of magic that Potter released. A blistering headache formed. Draco grabbed a table legs and gripped hard enough to bruise his fingers. He took a deep breath. Under force, his Veela instincts subsided.

He didn't need people falling over themselves to please him tonight.

Calm again, Draco could now taste Harry's creature inheritance in the air. He recognized and knew what it was.  _Is my Veela feeling threatened by Potter's dominance?_

It was the only logical explanation.

* * *

The golden trio left the Great Hall early that night.

As they did, Professor Sebastian Bainbridge watched them with a bright eye.

The aura that had cloaked the Potter boy was heady, and left a sweet burning scent in his nostrils. Pretending to study the goblet in his hands, Sebastian turned an appreciative gaze upon the tall, lean body that was threading its way towards the doors.

Wild, rich dark hair tumbled around the boy's neck - a slender, yet masculine, and entirely attractive neck - broad shoulders tapering down into a slim, neat waist. And the  _magic...!_ Sebastian tried not to writhe in bliss.

As a subtle heat made itself known in the depth of his belly, Sebastian, with long-practiced grace and delicacy, crossed his legs.

* * *

The ghosts of Hogwarts floated through the stone walls and cackled with laughter as they spread centuries-old gossip amongst themselves.

It was well past midnight, and while the others had retired to bed, Harry was prowling down the corridor, his mind roiling. He tried to grasp the calm he had pulled around him in the Great Hall but it slipped away from him. His mind fogged - for a moment he thought of battling it, but something wouldn't let him -

He hated it. He hated their probing, hungry eyes and open, senseless mouths.  _More, they always want more from you, always more_ , he thought darkly to himself,  _winning the war isn't enough, being their hero isn't enough, they need someone who can_ entertain  _them_  -

_Damnit!_

He slammed his fist into the fall and felt a slight sting. A bit of stone tumbled off the wall and Harry watched in horror and growing despair.

He had forgotten about his new found strength. As he stared at his unmarked fist, he started to tremble. The anger would not leave him alone. His sight blurred. His gums suddenly itched. So did the tips of his fingers, toes. An incredible itch burned his limbs and torso.

Someone was talking to him.

He tried to still and listen. The sound of his own breathing, the sound of the night, the beat of his heart magnified.

_Will you be ready tonight, my child...?_

Ready for what? No, no, whatever it was, he was not ready, not right at this moment. Suddenly, nothing was more important than to collapse on the cold stone floor in order to soothe his itching skin. The voice did not speak again.

Once his pulse slowed and his breathing sounded less breathy, Harry's fingers twitched as he tried to regain himself and find purchase on the stone.

Slowly pushing himself up and off the floor, Harry groaned; a deep rumbling noise that echoed oddly through the darkness. Pushing his sweat-slick hair away from his face, Harry took three deep breaths and chided himself for feeling so out of control from a little drama in the Great Hall.

Resolving to return to Gryffindor tower and have a good nights rest, Harry made his way through the darkness. Objects and paths in the pitch black night revealed themselves to him as if he were viewing them in bright daylight - an unexpected perk that his inheritance brought, no doubt.

Harry's little episode tonight had left his muscles feeling weak and stringy. His skin was still dry and hot. When he inspected himself carefully, he noted that his skin appeared almost scaly - dried, cracked skin threatening to flake off. It was during this quiet moment of perturbed inspection that Harry heard footsteps approach.

He pressed his back to the hard wall, not wanting to risk a detention from a patrolling teacher on the first day back. A small curly head rounded the corner at speed and smacked into Harry's chest.

"Oomph," the air was forced out of his lungs.

"O-oh! H-hello, H-ha-harry!" Dennis Creevey squeaked as Harry's grasped him by the shoulders. Already, a dusky pink was spreading itself across the younger boy's soft cheeks. Awkward silence drifted on as Dennis fiddled nervously with the hem of his robes and Harry loomed over him, purely due to the significant height difference.

Dennis chanced an upward glanced through his eyelashes. Harry's eyes caught his. The younger boy gasped and ducked his head down.

Harry stilled, quieted by the sight of Dennis's soft, smooth nape. There was just something about this... half in a trance, he reached out and pressed his thumb to the younger boy's pulse point.

Shocked at himself, he withdrew his hand. Dennis looked up at him with wide, guileless eyes. The older boy regained himself.

"So, what are you doing running in the corridors at this time of night?" Harry tucked his hand - thumb still tingling from the contact - behind his back.

His Scáth suddenly reacted to the laden atmosphere, urging him onwards. Harry's lips parted slightly so he could better sample Dennis's fragrance - as he inhaled, he drew in the vanilla and buttercup strands of magic that floated by Dennis's small body.

He fought back the strange urge to growl, but could not deny his body's desire to herd Dennis until he was back to back with the wall. His hand - of its own volition - pressed against the cold stone. In this position, Dennis was caged.

"I-I uuhh-" Dennis stuttered and broke off. He looked up again and found the older boy's eyes boring into his, making Dennis's breath hitch in his throat.

"When I saw you sneak out - I.. I just wanted to know where you were going, si-H-harry"

Harry found himself laughing out loud when Dennis almost called him 'Sir,' he leaned back a bit, to ease the tension.

"I hope you weren't hoping to catch me doing some nefarious deed."

Dennis blushed a deep red and looked up at Harry through his lashes. Those lashes...

"I-I didn't-mean, not like-"

Harry smiled, the white of his teeth showing. His eyes captured Dennis's again and the pink face turned impossibly pinker as he stuttered through his sentences.

"You look awfully hot, Dennis," Harry teased.

Dennis stuttered and looked up timidly, mousy-brown curls framing a cherub-like face. Soft-looking lips opened and closed silently, as Harry grinned down at him.

"Bye, Dennis. See you at Quidditch practice, tomorrow."

Dennis nodded, eyes wide, curls bouncing up and down. Unable to resist any longer, Harry tugged on a curl, wrapping a lock around his finger before letting it slowly slide from his grasp.

The smaller boy shuddered from the pleasant tingling on his scalp and opened his mouth to say something but Harry was already stalking down the corridor, robes billowing around his feet.

Dennis watched after the Harry, feeling rather faint from the lack of oxygen - being that close to his Hero nearly always stopped his breath.

He pressed a small palm to his chest, to calm the wild beating. Dennis's cheeks were still stained red as he thought about his encounter with Harry. The way his breath smelled, the way his eyes flashed when Dennis blushed and looked at his feet - and the way he had put his hand on the wall behind Dennis, trapping the smaller boy in the warm, safe space between Harry's chest and the wall.

Harry walked away, rolling the smell of vanilla around on his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a lot of stuff to do this coming week so the next update may be more than a week away. Definitely still coming though! Get excited ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted somewhere else and under a different name, this is the shiny new and improved version. If you would like to find the original, PM me. However, events and names have changed, and so reading the older version may be confusing.


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